Fear Not
by Marianna Morgan
Summary: AU Spin on 8x20 – Sick Sam / Big Brother Dean / Quirky, Supportive Charlie – If Sam was sicker now than when they had left him...if they indeed found him on the floor coughing up blood...then Dean would handle it; Dean would take care of his brother; Dean would somehow make it better. Charlie had never been so sure of anything else in her life.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: AU Spin on 8x20 – Sick Sam / Big Brother Dean / Quirky, Supportive Charlie – If Sam was sicker now than when they had left him...if they indeed found him on the floor coughing up blood...then Dean would handle it; Dean would take care of his brother; Dean would somehow make it better. Charlie had never been so sure of anything else in her life.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine

**Warnings**: Usual language, plus spoilers for season eight (specifically 8x20)

* * *

_Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know. __~ Brett Dennen_

* * *

Dean didn't scare easily.

Never really had.

Was fearless even before life had taught him to be...since most four-year olds would have run _away_ from fire, not toward it.

Was fearless even before John had required him to be...since most children were afraid to be alone...afraid to take care of an infant by themselves...afraid their dad would never come back, especially when weeks had passed with no sign of him.

Was fearless even before his job had demanded him to be...since most teenagers weren't tracking and hunting, killing and burning supernatural creatures deep in the woods in the middle of the night.

But none of that – _none of it_ – had ever bothered Dean.

Because at any age, he was used to doing what had to be done.

And he didn't scare easily.

...except when it came to Sam.

Except when Sam – sick, coughing, can-hardly-stand Sam – didn't answer his phone the _five fucking times_ Dean had called the kid's number over the past two minutes.

"C'mon, Sam..." Dean growled, ending the call only to send it again. "Pick up the damn phone!" he ordered.

As if Sam could hear Dean from here; as if Dean and Charlie weren't still standing in the middle of a boutique; as if people weren't beginning to stare at them.

As if Dean gave a rat's ass _who_ stared at them...

But Charlie did – still frustratingly self-conscious in out-of-place places like this – and smiled shyly at the older woman glaring in their direction.

The woman did not smile back.

Charlie huffed an awkward laugh and shifted where she stood, suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands.

Sighing, she continued to fidget and felt like an insecure child as she finally reverted to her nervous habit of pulling her hands inside the sleeves of her jacket – the jacket of her kickass new pantsuit.

Charlie smiled and relaxed a little at the reminder, nodding approvingly as she remembered her reflection in the mirror seconds ago before she had turned around.

Before Dean had asked to use her phone since he wasn't getting reception on his.

Before a pleasant shopping trip to start a new adventure had begun to unravel into a cringe-inducing spectacle.

Because Dean was pacing now...practically stomping back and forth in front of the grey couch he had been sitting on moments ago; his head down, his eyes on the floor as he completely focused on the phone ringing in his ear.

And this _had_ to be call number eight in no more than a three-minute time span.

Charlie blinked at the realization. "Wow."

Because she knew that Dean was the protective big brother and Sam was the sick little brother, but damn.

"Mother hen, much?"

Dean cut his eyes at Charlie as he dialed her phone once more; not needing words since his expression said it all – _I like you, but I _will_ cut you._

Charlie blinked again, uncertain whether to laugh – because surely he wasn't serious...or to be scared – because maybe he was.

Either way, it was probably smart to apologize.

"Sorry," she immediately offered, her hands reappearing like a magic trick from the cuffs of her sleeves as she lifted them in surrender; the fabric of her jacket rustling with the motion.

Ta-da...apology! Now, please don't kill me.

But Dean said nothing, apparently saving his words to unload on Sam's voicemail.

"Sam..."

And nobody could say that name like Dean could...whether the big brother was worried or pissed or happy or gentle..._nobody_ said Sam's name like Dean did.

Charlie swallowed, unexpectedly touched by that realization and freshly wishing she had siblings.

Even though Sam's sibling was pretty worried right now...

And pissed – definitely pissed.

Pissed _because_ he was worried.

Charlie shifted nervously.

"You listen to me..." Dean told Sam's voicemail as he stopped pacing to better focus on threatening his little brother. "If I come home and find out you're not answering your phone because you're just being a pouty little bitch about being left behind, _I will kick your sickly ass_. You hearin' me?"

Dean paused as if Sam would reply.

Charlie chewed on her bottom lip.

Other customers in the boutique discreetly stared at them and whispered, politely gossiping.

Dean glanced at his watch. "I'll give you one minute to check this message. _One minute_, Sam. And then I'll give you one more chance to answer your phone..."

And then all hell would break loose.

Charlie was sure of it, though Dean didn't say it.

Dean only ended the call and sighed harshly, shaking his head and swearing under his breath.

Charlie cleared her throat, unintentionally attracting Dean's attention. "Oh...sorry," she apologized and vaguely gestured toward her neck. "Nervous habit."

She had a lot of those that surfaced in tense situations like this.

Dean stared at her like he didn't have time or patience to interact with children.

Charlie nodded more than was necessary – another nervous tic – and glanced around the boutique. "Nice place," she commented, as if they had just arrived. "And nice outfit, huh?" she added, glancing back at Dean and pointing at her pantsuit still fitting her body like a glove.

The kind of glove a top-secret, FBI agent wore.

Oh, yeah...

All she needed was a hat and some shades to match this body glove, and she'd be ready to cuff 'em and stuff 'em.

Book 'em, Danno.

Charlie smiled and nodded again at her inner dialogue...and then stopped when she noticed Dean was still staring at her, not amused.

"Get changed," he told her, checking his watch since the one minute deadline was almost up.

Charlie frowned at the brusque order. "But I thought we were – "

" – get changed or get left," Dean interrupted, making it clear that their plans had changed as well; that even if Sam answered the call he was about to make, they were still going back to the Batcave.

Playing FBI agents would have to wait until later...maybe even as late as tomorrow.

Because Sam came first and making sure that Sam was okay was the only thing that mattered to Dean now.

And damn, Charlie wished she had a brother or sister; someone to worry about her like that, to love her like that, to take care of her like that.

She sighed.

"Yeah, okay..." Charlie belatedly agreed about changing clothes, turning and stepping into the dressing room; catching a glimpse of Dean redialing her phone and lifting it to his ear as she pulled the red curtain across its rod with a clank.

Seconds passed; Charlie changing clothes at a speed that would even rival that one time she had worn two different costumes to Comic Con to represent two different fandoms – even though their panels had been back-to-back that year – and had changed from Doctor Who's Donna Noble into Harry Potter's Hermione like a freakin' flash in that first stall of that women's bathroom.

Boo-yah, bitches.

Charlie nodded, impressed with her skills even now several summers later, and didn't bother hanging the pantsuit as she reached for the edge of the red curtain...and then paused when she heard Dean's voice.

"Alright. That's it, Sam..." the big brother announced into her phone, undoubtedly talking to Sam's voicemail for the second time. "I'm coming home."

Still behind the curtain, Charlie smiled fondly; wondering if Dean realized how much he sounded like a dad who was worried about his seemingly missing child but who was also pissed that he now had to leave work and go home to check on that child who was probably just being a little shit.

Ah, brothers...

Charlie wanted one.

But alas...

She sighed and slid the curtain back slowly, so as not to startle an enraged Winchester...like Dean was a wild animal or something.

Which was funny because if Dean _was _a wild animal, he would probably be a...

"Hey..." Dean snapped, tossing Charlie's phone at her and scattering her thoughts as she lingered in the doorway of the dressing room. "We're leaving," he informed and then promptly turned to do just that.

Charlie frowned. "But wait..." she protested, grabbing her phone from the floor where it had dropped when she hadn't caught it fast enough, and then snatched her bag from beside the couch as she followed after Dean. "We still have to pay for this," she reminded him, lifting her arm that had the pantsuit draped over it.

"Done," Dean replied, pocketing his own phone and pulling out his wallet while he walked; slapping a 100 dollar bill on the counter as he strode past the cash register...and then kept going; the dainty bell on the door practically ripped off with his exit.

The older woman, who had been staring at Dean and Charlie earlier, blinked as she now stood behind the counter. "Um, sir..." she called, clearly wondering how such trash as these two had ended up in her store. "You need to come back..."

"And you need to fuck off," Dean countered sharply, not even turning around to look at the woman as the door slammed behind him.

Because only one thing was on Dean's mind...and that one thing was not following the appropriate steps to properly purchase clothing. It was going home to check on a sick little brother who wasn't answering his phone and probably shouldn't have been left alone in the first place.

After all, Sam was coughing up blood as recently as yesterday morning...and had slept for damn near 24 hours straight...and could barely stand without toppling over...and had looked suspiciously flushed earlier.

Dean shook his head.

In fact, he would bet the same 100 bucks he had just forked over for that pantsuit that Sam had a fever...and as soon as Dean got back to the Batcave, he was going to confirm that hunch.

And then he was going to dose Sam with a fever reducer and painkillers, since Dean had seen the kid squint and wince and rub his forehead that morning, too.

Oh, yeah...little sick Sammy was getting taken care of and fussed over whether he wanted the attention or not.

It was Dean's _job_, dammit.

Let him do it, Sam.

_Jesus..._

Dean nodded in agreement with himself and loosened the knot on his tie as he continued walking, approaching the Impala and unlocking the driver's side door before sliding in behind the steering wheel.

It was time to go home, with or without Charlie.

Nothing personal, Your Highness.

Back inside the boutique, the woman at the cash register blinked; her eyes wide, her hand splayed in the middle of her chest in speechless shock after her initial gasp of horror at Dean's f-bomb dropped in the doorway of her shop.

Charlie froze, knowing she should move – that Dean would definitely leave her there – but feeling obligated to say something, to _do_ something in the wake of Dean's parting words.

The woman stared out the window at Dean now sitting in the black muscle car that had heralded trouble as soon as she had seen it pull up. She shook her head and made a sound of disapproval before slowly turning her attention to Charlie, clearly demanding an explanation for the rudeness displayed.

"Um..." Charlie began, shifting where she stood; her right hand nervously twisting the fabric of the pantsuit as it was still draped over her left arm.

The woman crossed her arms, waiting.

"I'm sorry," Charlie offered; her voice shaky but her tone genuine. "He's got Tourette's."

Because that was the only thing she could think of.

And maybe Dean _did_ have Tourette's.

Hell, Charlie didn't know.

All she knew was that Dean liked to throw the f-word around at the most inopportune times.

Like now...

Charlie quirked an apologetic smile as the woman continued to stare at her.

There was a beat of silence.

The woman frowned as she processed the unexpected news. "He...what?"

Charlie nodded solemnly that yes, sadly...it was true.

"Oh..." the woman replied and then said nothing, now more uncomfortable than self-righteous.

And that somehow made this all worth it.

Charlie resisted the urge to smile wider.

There was another beat of silence.

Charlie shrugged – because what else was there to say after a lie like that... – and then pointed at the Benjamin still resting on the counter. "Hope that covers this," she commented, tilting her head toward the pantsuit over her arm.

The woman nodded. "Yes. Of course. I mean...it should."

"Good," Charlie returned and then glanced out the front window of the boutique, noticing that Dean was backing the Impala out of the parking space.

...which meant she was indeed about to be left there.

"Shit!" Charlie blurted at the realization, springing forward and then glancing over her shoulder as the woman gasped again. "Sorry," she offered over the tinkling of the bell on the door. "It runs in the family."

And with that, Charlie was out the door and chasing after the Impala.

* * *

_**TBC**_


	2. Chapter 2

"Dean!" Charlie yelled, leaving the boutique and running down the sidewalk; her speed reduced by the pantsuit flapping against her thighs and her bag bouncing against her side.

Charlie growled her frustration.

"Seriously?" she asked no one in particular, trying to readjust her load while dodging other shoppers as she raced to catch up with the classic Chevy that was thankfully still easing out of traffic in the downtown area and was not yet on the open road.

Seconds passed.

Charlie ran.

The Impala rolled on.

"Dean..." Charlie called again when she was finally parallel with the black muscle car.

Dean braked and looked at her through the open driver's window; the window having already been rolled down like he had known he would need to hear her.

Charlie swallowed, slightly out of breath from her brisk jog.

Because she was a gamer, not a runner.

Give her a break.

Charlie swallowed again, preparing to speak even if she was still panting.

But some jackass in a Toyota behind the Impala honked.

Charlie frowned, cutting her eyes at the impatient driver. "Rude," she scolded, doing her best Bon Qui Qui impression; nailing the voice and the expression.

The jackass honked again.

Charlie's frown deepened as she looked back at Dean.

Was he believing this guy?

Dean clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the Impala's steering wheel. "Get in the car," he told her.

Charlie blinked, realizing that if the jackass behind him honked one more time, Dean would probably create a scene in the middle of the street...and if she didn't move her ass, Dean would give no second chances to hitch a ride.

And it was a loooong walk back to the Batcave.

"Charlie..."

"Coming..." she immediately responded to Dean's warning tone; squeezing through the tight space of the other cars parked along the street and crossing around the Impala's trunk before pausing to glare at the jackass as he watched her through his windshield.

Charlie held his gaze, 100% hardcore bitch and intimidating as shit, thank-you-very-much.

You want a piece of me, pal?

Bring it.

Come at me, bro.

I will _mess you up_.

I will –

"Charlie!"

Charlie blinked at the sound of Dean's voice yelling at her.

"I'm _coming_..." Charlie assureed, defiantly lifting her chin at the jackass and then crossing to the passenger side of the Impala; opening the door and practically falling into the front seat as Dean began pulling forward again.

"Wait! The door..."

"Close it."

Well, _duh_.

Charlie pulled a face.

"Close it," Dean repeated, still driving forward.

Charlie grunted as she leaned to reach for the handle – and after one missed grab, finally shut the passenger door.

"Dude..." she commented, breathless and incredulous at what had just happened.

Dean didn't respond.

Charlie scowled but decided not to push her luck.

She sighed.

They drove on in silence.

Dean watched his rearview, glaring at the jackass in the Toyota who followed them for two blocks before turning left.

Charlie shifted on the bench seat, her pantsuit a wadded mess in her lap; her bag resting on top of her feet, most of its contents spilled in the floorboard.

That was nice.

Good times.

She sighed again.

There was more silence; the rumble of the Impala's engine and the hum of her tires on the road the only sounds between them.

"Try Sam again..." Dean ordered, digging his own phone from his pocket.

Charlie blinked. "But I thought we were going back to – "

" – we are," Dean confirmed.

Because the Batcave was definitely their next stop...and would probably be their _only _stop for the rest of the day.

"But call him anyway," Dean told Charlie, doing the same with his phone; having already dialed the number with one touch and lifted it to his ear.

Charlie nodded, briefly searching for her phone in her bag – not even remembering that she had thrown it in there during her hasty retreat from the boutique – and then placed the call to Sam after Dean had ended his own call without an answer.

The hollow ring tone buzzed in Charlie's ear.

Seconds passed.

Sam didn't pick up on the other end.

His voicemail did.

Charlie shook her head as she ended her call as well. "He's not answering. Sorry..."

"Dammit..." Dean growled, tossing his phone in the seat and checking his rearview before refocusing on the road ahead. "Where the hell are you, Sammy?"

Charlie twitched a smile; her heart always doing a strange flip whenever Dean called his brother that.

It was such a small thing – but it was definitely a _big brother, little brother_ thing...and it was incredibly sweet.

Even if Dean didn't realize _how_ sweet; had no clue how endearing that nickname was when he said it...which somehow made it even better.

_Sammy. _

Sammy-Sam-Sam...

Charlie sighed.

These guys...

She glanced at Dean, his jaw still clenched; his skin stretched tight over his knuckles from how firmly he was gripping the steering wheel.

The big brother not saying a word but still practically vibrating with worry and barely contained panic.

Because for those keeping count at home, Dean had called Sam at least a dozen times now...and Sam hadn't answered once.

Charlie wrinkled her nose, realizing this didn't look good but...

"I'm sure he's still there," Charlie assured Dean about Sam being right where they had left him – at the table in the Batcave.

After all, it wasn't like Sam could exactly walk very far by himself these days...or at least, that's how it had seemed in the few hours Charlie had seen him earlier.

She inwardly cringed at the memory of Sam's chair screeching across the floor as he had stood up...and then had almost fell right back down.

Thank god for quick reflexes and sturdy furniture.

Charlie sighed. "I'm sure he's fine."

Dean arched an eyebrow at her confident prediction, clearly not eager to jump on Charlie's "Don't Worry, Be Happy" bandwagon.

"Then why isn't he answering his phone?" Dean countered, momentarily pinning Charlie with one of those stares that looked – and _felt _– like he could see your soul.

Charlie swallowed.

"Why isn't he answering his phone?" Dean repeated, glancing back at the road and sounding more pissed – more _worried_ – than the first time he had said it.

Charlie swallowed again.

Because it was a good question.

It was a _concerning_ question.

"I don't know," she admitted quietly, fidgeting with the phone now resting in her lap with the pantsuit.

Silence settled again.

Seconds passed.

Then minutes...

Charlie sighed, knowing that Dean was preoccupied with whatever was going on with Sam, but she still hated the tension between them.

"So..." she began.

Dean glanced at her; his expression warning against anything stupid that might come out of her mouth.

Because he had no patience for that now; had no patience for off-beat comments or quirky observations – not when he was worried about Sam.

Charlie nodded; message received and understood. "I'm sure he's fine," she attempted to soothe once again.

Because Sam was tall and strong and..._tall..._which meant he had to be fine.

The logic somehow made sense to Charlie.

Plus, she had read the books about the Winchesters – more obsessively than she would ever admit – and it seemed thus far that Sam could survive damn near anything.

"He's fine," Charlie repeated, not sounding as confident this time.

Because everyone's story had to end eventually; everyone met their match one day...and that was it.

Game over.

What if these trials were the final level for Sam?

What if it was game over for him?

The thought made Charlie's chest ache.

Dean sighed. "I hope so," he responded about Sam being fine, though his tone reflected his doubt. "But he should answer his damn phone..."

Charlie nodded, hearing Dean's worry underneath his gruff tone. "Well, yes..." she agreed. "But maybe he didn't answer because he doesn't have his phone with him."

Dean shook his head. "Sam always has his phone with him."

It was one of their rules – to have your phone with you at all times in case the other brother needed you...or you needed him.

"Okay..." Charlie allowed. "Maybe he didn't recognize the number. I mean...you were calling from _my_ phone earlier."

Dean shook his head again. "Your number is in Sam's phone," he told her. "Sam would be more likely to answer a call from _you_ than a call from _me_ right now."

"Oh..." Charlie replied, because that made sense given how frustrated Sam had seemed earlier about Dean grounding him.

Was that the real reason why Dean had asked to use her phone?

There was silence as the Impala rolled down the highway.

"Well..." Charlie began, her mind buzzing with other possibilities to give them both a sliver of peace. "Maybe he's in the bathroom..."

...which was not necessarily comforting since Sam being in the bathroom _this_ long would probably not be a good sign.

"Or maybe he fell asleep..." she offered.

...which again wasn't very comforting if Sam was so deeply out of it that he had slept through his phone ringing a gazillion times.

Charlie swallowed. "Or maybe he's not even there...maybe he...I don't know...stole my car and is out working the case or something..."

She laughed nervously at the thought because 1) stealing her car would _not _be cool, Sam Winchester; and 2) Dean's brother was in no condition to be out by himself working a case.

So, that possibility wasn't comforting, either, Charlie. Thanks.

Plus, Dean said that Sam always had his phone regardless of where he was, so...

Charlie sighed, running out of options. "Or maybe – "

" – maybe he's on the floor coughing up blood," Dean interrupted, revealing the image that was on a constant loop in his mind, and then shook his head; annoyed with himself that he had confessed that aloud.

Charlie blinked at the unexpected theory about their unanswered phone calls to Sam and then frowned. "Why..." She paused. "Why would you say something like that?"

Because that was some intense shit.

And yeah, Charlie had noticed that Sam looked pale and weak when she had first arrived at the Batcave...and then of course had noticed him almost faceplanting when he had stood from the table earlier...and now knew about the trials he was going through.

But coughing up blood?

What the hell?

Charlie swallowed, further unnerved by Dean's silence and his refusal to look at her.

"Dean. Why would you say that?"

Because Dean had said it with an intensity that implied that Sam coughing up blood wasn't just a fear...it was a reality.

Charlie suddenly had no doubt that Dean had _seen _Sam coughing up blood.

And that's why Dean was in overdrive with his protective big brother tendencies.

That's why Dean had insisted Sam stay home.

That's why Dean had called Sam to check on him even though they had left the Batcave barely an hour ago.

That's why Dean was being a mother hen.

Because Sam was sick – _really_ sick, _scary_ sick – and Dean was worried.

Even worse, Dean was _scared_.

And Dean wasn't scared of anything, so...

Charlie blinked as the realization became clearer that this was bad – really, _really_ bad...Sam-might-die bad.

Her heart hammered in her chest. "Dean. Why would Sam be on the floor coughing up blood? Why would you say that?"

Dean sighed, his gaze flickering from the Impala's rearview to the windshield. "Because that's part of this...part of these trials," he finally told Charlie. "It's been happening since Sam completed the first one."

"He coughs up blood?" Charlie clarified, hearing the shock in her voice and feeling her heart beginning to beat even faster.

Because now _she_ was scared; now _she_ was concerned; now _she_ wanted to get back to the Batcave and lay eyes on Sam...and then kick his ass for not answering his phone if he was okay.

"Yeah," Dean confirmed about the blood. "It was just a little at first..."

Like that made it better...

"And now..." Dean shook his head.

Charlie stared at him. "Now it's a lot," she finished, based on Dean's expression.

"It's _too much_," Dean corrected and then paused. "He can't keep going like that, Charlie."

Charlie swallowed, not sure what to say.

Because Dean was right – a person couldn't just continue to cough up blood several times a day and expect to be okay.

Eventually, the maximum level would be reached.

And then...game over.

Oh, god...

Charlie blinked. "This is some really bad shit."

Dean snorted and huffed a humorless laugh as he glanced across the bench seat. "Yeah," he agreed.

There was silence.

"And I shouldn't have left him alone..."

Charlie turned to look at Dean as he once again refused to look at her; his gaze fixed on the road.

But Charlie still knew – knew that _that_ was Dean's true fear.

That Sam was in serious trouble and was alone.

That he had left Sam by himself even though he knew his brother was weak.

That he had abandoned his sick kid...and now his sick kid was paying the price.

That his little brother could be calling for Dean _in this very second..._and Dean wasn't there.

_That_ was Dean's fear.

_That_ was what Dean was afraid of.

_That_ was what scared Dean – something bad happening to Sam because Dean wasn't there.

Just like Dean wasn't there at the Batcave now...and Sam wasn't answering his phone.

...which meant what?

Charlie sighed.

She didn't know...but she didn't have a good feeling about it.

And she knew that Dean definitely sensed trouble back home...which was why they were currently flying down the highway well over the speed limit.

God forbid they got stopped by a cop...

Charlie inwardly cringed at the thought and chewed on her bottom lip.

There was silence.

Silence.

Silence.

And then...

"It's going to be okay," Charlie announced, forcing confidence and optimism in her voice and reached across the bench seat, squeezing Dean's arm in silent support.

Because yeah, she wasn't Dean's sister...and she wasn't Sam's sister, either. But she loved them both like they were her brothers. And she was in this with them for as long as they would have her.

"It's going to be okay," Charlie repeated, still staring straight at Dean.

Dean clenched his jaw but said nothing.

Because he often said that, too; would practically chant that to Sam when the kid was doubled-over or on his knees coughing up blood; one paper towel after another soaked with red.

_It's okay. _

_It's okay. _

_It's going to be okay. _

But Dean didn't believe that anymore.

Because according to Castiel, Sam was damaged in ways even the angel couldn't heal...and nothing about that seemed okay.

Dean released a shaky breath, pulling himself together as they neared the Batcave; thankful that Charlie was keeping quiet...but was also keeping her hand on his arm.

Charlie smiled, knowing without being told, and directed her attention straight ahead as they rode.

Minutes passed with miles.

The path that led to the Batcave came into view on the horizon.

Dean's bicep tensed beneath Charlie's hand.

Because this was it – ready or not, they were about to discover whether Sam wasn't answering his phone because he was being a pouty little bitch...or because he was...

Charlie shook her head, refusing to think about any other possibilities right now, and focused instead on the only outcome she would accept – that Sam was here...at least, she assumed he was since her car was still there, not stolen...and he was fine.

Charlie nodded and patted Dean's arm before releasing her supportive grip. "He's okay," she stated confidently about Sam.

Dean cut his eyes at her, 30-some years of big brother experience telling him otherwise. "And if he's not...?" he challenged.

Charlie didn't even blink. "Then you'll take care of him."

She had never been so sure of anything else in her life.

Because if Sam was sicker now than when they had left him...if they indeed found him on the floor coughing up blood...then Dean would handle it; Dean would take care of his brother; Dean would somehow make it better.

And it was all going to be okay.

Charlie nodded, willing that to be true even as she felt dread twist her stomach as the Impala pulled up to the door of the Batcave.

"Bunker sweet bunker..." she commented and smiled as she glanced at Dean, trying to lighten the moment.

But Dean said nothing, instead grabbing his phone from the seat, opening the driver's side door, and climbing out of the Impala; crossing around the front of the classic Chevy and heading straight to the stairs.

Charlie did the same, leaving her pantsuit and phone and bag in the front seat as she exited the passenger side of the black muscle car and followed Dean inside.

* * *

_**TBC**_


	3. Chapter 3

Dean didn't scare easily.

...except when Sam didn't answer his name.

Because that was another one of their rules – that you answered your name when the other brother called you just to confirm that you were okay; that you were still there and alive and breathing and shit.

And then once that was confirmed, you could go back to being pissed and silent treat the hell out of your brother.

But first..._you answered your fucking name_ _when it was called_.

It was a _rule_, dammit.

And it was one they never broke.

So Sam not responding when Dean called him right now was...

"Not good," Charlie announced, understating the obvious as she stood slightly behind Dean inside the Batcave. "Do you think – "

_Shut up_, Dean interrupted; not speaking, not even turning to look at her but still effectively silencing her as his hand sliced through the air, cutting her off.

Or maybe it symbolized a karate chop to her throat.

Either way, the message was clear – _shut up_.

Charlie swallowed.

Yeah, okay.

She could shut up.

Sure.

No problem.

Charlie swallowed again, her wide-eyed gaze flickering around the entryway.

Where in the world was Sam Winchester?

Like that Carmen Sandiego game she used to play.

It was old-school, but that was still a kickass game.

Charlie nodded appreciatively at the memory and then shook her head – annoyed with herself for always getting lost in her own wandering thoughts – and then returned her attention to Dean, staring at his back.

Dean remained motionless in the middle of the room where they had last seen Sam – the main room of the Batcave with all of those matching chairs and lamps...and the books and the long-ass table and..._where the hell was his brother?_

Dean listened intently, tilting his head and even briefly closing his eyes since removing one sense automatically sharpened the others.

But there was nothing to hear.

No coughing, no wheezing, no uncoordinated movement.

The silence was so loud it hummed.

Dean opened his eyes.

Charlie waited, afraid to move – hell, afraid to even _breathe_ – as Dean continued his well-practiced, methodical process of honing in on Sam's distress signal...or whatever.

Blood linked to blood and all the instincts that went along with that kind of tie.

Charlie shrugged, not pretending to understand the depth of the brothers' connection though she was fascinated by it.

Because Dean was definitely sensing something she wasn't.

Charlie held still.

"Sam..." Dean called again, his eyes scanning every corner of the room as he now walked a careful circle around the table.

But there was nothing.

Dean's gaze then moved to the wooden floor, searching for any sign of blood – the tell-tale specks of red that always escaped even a well-covered cough.

But again there was nothing.

There was no blood and no sound and no Sam because the kid wasn't in this room anymore...or in the open room behind it since the room with the glowing map table was just as Sam-less as this one.

But Dean knew that Sam was there _somewhere. _

He could sense the kid in that way he could never explain.

But Sam was there.

...which meant the search was on.

And the Batcave was a big-ass place to search, especially when you were already worried about a missing little brother who also happened to be sick and feverish and unsteady on his feet.

Dean sighed harshly. "Dammit, Sam..." he growled, snatching off his tie and then shrugging out of his coat before tossing both on the table...and noticing that Sam's phone wasn't laying on the polished surface like it sometimes was.

Which meant wherever Sam had gone, there was a good chance his phone was with him.

At least Sam had followed _that_ rule – to always have his phone in case Dean called, in case Dean needed him.

But these other rules between them needed a little work – like _answering_ your fucking phone and _answering _when your brother called your name.

Speaking of...

"Sam..." Dean called once more, his voice echoing through the Batcave and receiving no reply.

Dean snorted his worried frustration, unfastening the top button of his collared shirt and then doing the same with the buttons on his cuffed sleeves; rolling one sleeve up and then the other.

Still standing behind him, Charlie watched, vaguely wondering if Dean was preparing for a fight or a rescue.

Maybe both...

Charlie cleared her throat; daring to speak, wanting to help. "Maybe he's in his room..."

Because that was definitely the first place she would look.

But Dean shook his head, rejecting that theory.

Because if he knew Sam – and believe him...he did – then Dean would bet his brother was down in the shooting range. The stubborn little shit emptying round after round of ammo as he tried to hit that target he had so embarrassingly failed to hit earlier.

Dean nodded at the thought, visualizing his brother standing behind that waist-high concrete wall downstairs; Sam's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed, maybe even one hand supporting the other to steady his aim as he fired...and fired and fired, desperate to pass Dean's test for resuming the hunt – hitting that target.

But not just hitting the white space because they both knew that didn't count.

No.

Sam needed to hit the black outline of the man, preferably in the chest or head.

And _then_ Dean would consider letting him back on the hunt.

Which meant that was what Sam had been doing for the past hour that Dean and Charlie had been gone – target practicing.

Dean knew it because he knew his brother.

But there was no echo to indicate practice shots being fired in the range below...and Sam was nowhere in sight up here.

So...

Dean sighed, not liking the way this was adding up but now knowing the first place he was beginning his search for his brother.

Charlie frowned as Dean suddenly turned and walked past her. "Hey. Where are you going?"

Dean didn't respond, knowing it was obvious that he was heading downstairs, especially since he had taken Charlie in this direction hours earlier when he had required her to pass the target test as well before agreeing to take her with him on the hunt.

And surprisingly, she had passed with remarkable accuracy.

Dean snorted, still somewhat impressed with Charlie's marksmanship, and kept walking; opening the door that led to the stairwell and then disappearing from sight.

Charlie's frown deepened – because _why_ was Dean going to the shooting range?

Now was not the time to blow off steam.

Unless Dean thought that Sam was down there and was going to look.

After all, he was the one with the sixth sense about his little brother.

Charlie quirked a smile, remembering all of the times in those books when Dean had known _exactly_ where Sam was based solely on instinct.

These brothers were _that_ connected...and seriously, _why_ was Charlie an only child?

It was not fair.

She wanted a superpower like that.

Charlie sighed, realizing that she was still standing alone in the room like a dork while Dean was moving forward with finding Sam.

She should get in on that.

"Right," Charlie agreed with herself and followed Dean; crossing to the door and entering the stairwell, surprised to see the lights already on in the shooting range below; their glow filtering up the stairs.

Huh.

Okay, maybe Sam _was_ down there.

But if he was, then why couldn't they hear him?

Even if he wasn't shooting, there should at least be the general sounds of somebody moving around.

But no...just silence and the quiet scuff of Dean's boots on the stairs.

Charlie lingered at the top of the stairs, not liking the way this was adding up, and chewed on her bottom lip, feeling like she was suddenly caught in either a suspense movie – _"Hurry up!"_ – or a horror flick – _"Don't go down there!"_

Because there were only two ways this was going to end – an empty shooting range with no Sam, which would lead to more questions...or a shooting range with a too-quiet, too-still Sam, which Charlie didn't even want to _think_ about.

She cringed as she thought about it anyway.

"Please be okay..." Charlie whispered to Sam – wherever he was – and saw Dean only a few steps ahead of her; his phone once again out of his pocket and now pressing to his ear.

Down below, another phone rang.

Three guesses whose it was.

Charlie swallowed, dread twisting her stomach as the phone rang...and rang.

Dean kept walking, lowering his phone from his ear and holding it in front of him instead, like it was a tracking device used to find wayward little brothers.

And Charlie guessed that in a way, it was.

Because Dean seemed to recognize the ring tone that kept echoing below and went faster down the steps.

Again, Charlie followed; her hand sliding over the rail as she descended the stairs behind him.

The phone below stopped ringing as suddenly as it had started.

The silence that took its place felt strangely hollow and ominous.

Charlie paused on the steps, her heart hammering in her chest.

She briefly closed her eyes, not sure if she was ready for this; if she was ready to see what waited for them in the shooting range.

Because this was not good – this was_ so not good_.

Charlie exhaled a shaky breath and opened her eyes; her hand aching from how tightly she was gripping the railing as she remained motionless on the steps.

Below her, Dean ended his call when Sam's voicemail picked up, pocketing his phone as he reached the bottom of the steps and made the slight right turn that led into the actual shooting range.

Charlie tensed, waiting for a reaction.

But none came.

Only silence.

Charlie frowned, her curiosity instantly overriding her fear, and began moving again.

She continued down the stairs and made the same right turn as Dean had moments before...and then smacked into Dean's back as she belatedly realized that he had paused just inside the doorway to scan the room for potential lurking danger.

"Whoa..." Charlie blurted, stumbling backwards and bracing herself on the doorjamb even as Dean moved forward – the hunter in him apparently satisfied that the area was safe and thus allowing the big brother side of him to completely take over.

"Sammy..." Dean called, wasting no time crossing to his brother sprawled on the floor; his hands eager to touch but only hovering as he quickly triaged Sam's condition.

Charlie blinked, seeing Sam for the first time now that Dean was crouching beside him.

"Oh my god..." she whispered, momentarily frozen in place at the sight of the youngest Winchester.

Because Dean's earlier prediction had been right – Sam was on the floor coughing up blood.

Or at least, he _had_ been coughing up blood.

Sam wasn't doing much of anything right now, except breathing...nosily breathing as though even that was an effort.

But the red that stained Sam's lips and chin and had even dripped to the floor testified that Sam had been coughing up blood.

And it was too much.

Dean had been right about that as well.

There was too much blood pooled on the floor beneath Sam's mouth.

Charlie swallowed, her gaze following Dean's hand as his fingers pushed back Sam's sweat-damp bangs and then lightly skimmed over Sam's forehead; the big brother assessing the fresh injury Sam had sustained when he had collapsed.

Charlie came closer, angling for a better view of the jagged gash at Sam's hairline.

"Ouch..." she commented, because that definitely looked painful; was bloody and swollen and already bruising. "How did that happen?"

Dean ignored her question, instead narrowing his eyes and glancing over his shoulder.

Charlie looked in the same direction, seeing the blood on the edge of the concrete ledge – the same ledge where a gun and Sam's phone were still laying – and quickly realized what had happened.

Sam had more than likely leaned forward earlier, doubled-over by the intensity of his coughs, and then had hit his head on the ledge as he had suddenly lost consciousness; striking the edge of the concrete with his forehead before falling back.

Or maybe Sam's shaky legs had refused to support him any longer, and _that_ was why he had fallen forward.

Maybe Sam losing consciousness had nothing to do with a breathless coughing spell but could be blamed on simply losing his balance, hitting his head, and _then_ passing out.

It was like the whole chicken and egg debate – it was hard to conclusively say one way or another which came first.

But regardless of the sequence of events, the result was the same in this situation – because here Sam was, sprawled at an awkward angle on the floor of the shooting range with a bloody mouth and a bloody forehead.

Dean sighed. "You're a mess," he told his unconscious brother. "And a pain in my ass..." he added, worried affection in his tone as he carefully wiped his hand over Sam's chin and lips and then rubbed Sam's blood on his own pants.

Charlie watched, touched more than she expected by such a simple gesture.

Dean did it again, clearing more blood from Sam's face and wiping it on his pants before palming his brother's forehead.

Charlie continued to watch.

Dean scowled and shook his head.

Charlie frowned. "Fever?"

Dean glanced at her. "He's burning up..." he reported about Sam's temperature and shook his head again. "But the stubborn little shit doesn't tell anybody or let them help him until he fucking passes out by himself..." the big brother continued to rant. "Dumbass."

Charlie quirked a smile, wisely keeping quiet even as she detected the candid worry and fear in Dean's tone.

There was a beat of silence.

Dean sighed, his hand slipping from Sam's forehead as his gaze swept over his brother to check for any other injuries.

Charlie's gaze did the same, not really sure what she was looking for.

"Is he okay?" she asked and then cringed at how ridiculous that sounded.

Because of course Sam wasn't okay.

His body was slowly deteriorating from the effects of the trials.

He was unconscious and bleeding; was sweaty and pale; had been coughing up blood and was running a fever.

Anybody with eyes could see that Sam was far from okay.

But...

"I mean...you know..." Charlie shrugged, suddenly feeling awkward and intrusive. "Relatively speaking, is he okay?"

Dean arched an eyebrow at her clarification.

Charlie forced a smile, hoping Dean realized that she was only asking stupid questions because she was concerned; because she loved these guys and didn't want anything to happen to either of them.

Dean sighed. "Yes," he finally replied, glancing at Charlie and then back at Sam. "Relatively speaking, I think he's fine. I just need to get him upstairs...clean him up, cool him down, put him to bed..."

Charlie's smile softened, wondering if Dean ever realized how much he sounded and acted more like a parent than a brother.

...which made sense, especially given Sam and Dean's history and all that she had read in those books about their life – Dean always being responsible for Sam and taking care of his little brother more so than their dad ever had.

It was beautifully sad, heartbreakingly sweet.

Charlie sighed, her smile lingering...and then slipping as the first part of Dean's plan sunk in.

"Wait...get him upstairs?" she clarified.

Because Charlie was definitely all about helping take care of Sam - that is, if Dean would _allow_ her to help.

But Sam was tall...which meant he was heavy. And he was probably even _heavier _when he was unconscious.

So how the hell were they going to get him upstairs?

* * *

_**TBC**_


	4. Chapter 4

"Dean..." Charlie prompted, crouching beside the big brother; her gaze flickering between him and an unconscious Sam as the youngest Winchester was still sprawled on the floor of the Batcave's shooting range. "Seriously. _How_ are we getting him upstairs?"

Unless...

"Oh my god..." Charlie murmured, her voice quiet and awestruck as though she had just realized. "Are you going to carry him?" she asked, ridiculously excited – maybe even _disturbingly_ excited – about the potential of witnessing something so epically brotherly.

Just like in those books – Dean scooping up his brother and carrying him to safety regardless if Sam was a baby, a child, a teenager, or a grown-ass man.

It didn't matter.

Sam would always be Dean's _little_ brother and therefore could always be carried by Dean...even when that little brother was a 200-pound giant.

Charlie smiled.

"You are, aren't you?" she pressed about Dean carrying his brother now. "This is amazing. Are we talking a full-on fireman carry or..."

Charlie's voice trailed off as Dean cut his eyes at her; the big brother having clearly reached his limit for her rambling.

She blinked back at him, suddenly self-conscious and anxious.

Because the _next to last_ thing Charlie wanted to do was piss Dean off...and the _last_ thing she wanted to do was piss Dean off about Sam.

Charlie swallowed and offered a smile – a nonverbal reminder that hey, they were all friends here.

But Dean didn't seem to care as he continued to stare at her.

Charlie swallowed again and tried to remember what to do when confronted with an angry bear – was it maintain eye contact or play dead?

She honestly couldn't recall but went with the first option, since there was already one person on the floor.

Charlie glanced at a still and silent Sam and then back to Dean. "What?"

As if she didn't already know based on Dean's expression...

"Shut up," Dean told her – his tone blunt and irritated – and then continued to hold her gaze, further emphasizing that he was serious.

Not another fucking word until Sam was safely upstairs.

Charlie nodded.

Yeah. Sure.

She loved being quiet.

Being quiet was her favorite.

Plus, that made sense – she certainly didn't want her nervous chattering to somehow distract Dean from doing whatever had to be done for an unconscious Sam who was still a bleeding, feverish mess on the floor.

But...

"Are you going to carry him?"

Because god help her, Charlie couldn't resist asking just _one_ more time.

Dean glared.

_Not another fucking word. _

Charlie nodded again. "Right. Absolutely. Got it," she replied and then cringed.

Because yeah...that was her talking..._again_.

"Dammit..." Charlie swore, annoyed with herself.

There was a beat of silence.

_Sorry_, Charlie mouthed – which didn't really count as speaking if just your lips moved and there was no sound – and then stood, backing away to give the brothers their space.

Dean sighed harshly, watching her go and then ignoring her; once again solely focused on Sam and on the familiar task of waking his little brother.

Because Dean could and _would _carry Sam if he had to, but that was Plan B.

Plan A was...

"Hey. Sammy..." Dean called, reaching for Sam and rubbing the kid's chest.

Charlie watched from her position by the wall, thankful that Dean couldn't see her arch a skeptical eyebrow.

Because she didn't mean to be a Debbie Downer, but she doubted waking Sam was going to be that easy.

In case Dean hadn't noticed, Sam was _out_.

The youngest Winchester so deeply unconscious that he hadn't heard his phone ring numerous times over the past half hour...and hadn't even noticed that he was no longer alone in the shooting range.

...which further proved that Sam was _out _– was unresponsive and unreachable, and Dean should just save them all some time and...

Charlie blinked as Sam instantly stirred beneath Dean's touch.

Whoa.

Holy Sam Whisperer, Batman.

Notify all news sources and social media outlets with this headline – _Amazing Big Brother Wakens Unconscious Little Brother with a Single Touch. _

Charlie smiled and continued to watch as Sam shifted on the floor; his movements slow and weak and uncoordinated as hell...but definitely moving and definitely waking up.

She felt like cheering.

Apparently so did Dean.

"Atta boy, Sammy..." Dean praised.

The big brother always relieved when Sam started coming around whether the kid had been unconscious for only a minute or had been out for days.

"That's it, man..." Dean encouraged; continuing to rub Sam's chest, further anchoring his brother. "C'mon...wake up. Look at me."

_Look at me. _

There was something strangely possessive and protective in those three words, loosely translated: look at me...and _only_ me - because I'm here...I've got you.

The realization made Charlie's heart twist in that painful way it often did when she was reminded of just how much these brothers loved each other; just how much they belonged to each other; just how much it was truly them against the world...and they were okay that.

In fact, they _preferred_ it that way.

And yet sometimes, they let other people in – like her.

Charlie swallowed against the urge to cry, freshly grateful for that privilege and loving these guys more than she should.

_Thank you_, she told them in her heart and would tell them aloud once Dean allowed her to speak again.

Charlie twitched a smile and refocused on her favorite pair of brothers.

"Sammy..." Dean was saying.

Sam scrunched his face; his head slowly turning in the direction of Dean's voice.

...which was what all children across all species did when their parents called – they turned in that direction.

Charlie was just sayin'.

She twitched another smile, glad that Dean couldn't read her thoughts; glad that Dean was ignoring her right now as she openly gawked at the brotherliness on display.

It was beautiful.

Charlie sighed.

"Sammy..." Dean called again, his hand no longer rubbing Sam's chest but just resting there.

The big brother patient and waiting as long as Sam eventually opened his eyes and said something.

Because that's what Dean wanted – to see Sam staring back at him; to hear his brother telling him that he was okay...even though Dean would promptly call bullshit because Sam was _not_ okay.

But that was their routine when one of them was sick or hurt, and Dean desperately needed it now.

Seconds passed.

And in the next moment, Sam's eyes blinked open.

Dean smiled, feeling that familiar mixture of love and gratitude swell in his chest.

_There you are, little brother. _

Dean nodded at the disoriented kid still blinking up at him.

_There you are. _

Dean's smile lingered. "'Bout damn time..." he said instead.

Charlie quirked a smile of her own at Dean's transparent bitching.

Because macho, badass hunters didn't tell their little brothers that they were scared; that they were worried; that they loved them too much to even _think_ about losing them.

But that was all there.

All right there between the lines.

Charlie heard it, and she was sure that Sam had heard it, too.

Or at least Sam _would've_ heard it if he was aware enough to process speech right now.

But that didn't seem to be the case.

Charlie wrinkled her nose, freshly concerned by how dazed Sam looked just laying there on the floor of the shooting range, silently blinking up at Dean.

Dean narrowed his eyes, concerned as well. "Hey..." he called to Sam. "Look at me," he ordered, waiting for his brother to actually focus on him. "Better," he praised when Sam finally did. "Now, say something..."

Like it was Sam's duty to perform tricks as soon as he woke up from being knocked out...or from passing out – they still didn't know which had happened.

"Sam..." Dean prompted when his brother didn't respond quick enough. "C'mon, man. Don't keep me waiting. You know I only wait for hot women and warm pie."

Dean smiled and winked as he teased his brother, once again rubbing Sam's chest to help the kid focus.

Charlie snorted.

Hot women and warm pie.

Oh, Dean...

But the humor was lost on Sam.

Dean frowned at his quiet brother. "Sammy..."

And Charlie noted the warning tone this time, like Sam had one more chance to perk up and say something before –

"Mmm..."

Charlie blinked and then smiled.

Because yeah, Sam didn't just suddenly sit up and start a conversation with them, but that sound...or hum...or whatever it was...was definitely made with purpose – which meant they were getting somewhere.

But Dean didn't seem quite as impressed.

The big brother arched an eyebrow at the mumbled sound as Sam shifted on the floor beside him.

"I guess that's better..." Dean reluctantly allowed. "But I wanna hear _words_, Sam. C'mon, man. You're starting to freak me out here..."

Charlie nodded, slightly surprised that Dean had admitted that.

But it had been several minutes since Sam had opened his eyes, and he had yet to say or do anything.

So...

Charlie chewed on her bottom lip, not sure what to make of that.

Dean continued to watch his brother.

Sam once again shifted on the floor, a soft moan escaping as he squinted at the lights above; the harsh glare intensifying the pain that throbbed in his head, making it impossible to think about anything else...especially the effort of speaking.

Sam's muscles tensed under Dean's hand.

Dean further narrowed his eyes at Sam's obvious discomfort, glancing up at the lights and then back at his brother, immediately realizing the problem.

Charlie looked up as well.

Okay. They were lights. So what?

But Dean viewed them differently; saw them as his brother saw them.

...which was why _Dean_ was taking care of Sam and Charlie was on mandatory nonverbal lockdown over by the wall, allowed to silently observe and nothing more.

She sighed.

"Hang on, Sammy..." Dean urged, still resting his hand on Sam's chest but settling his other hand over his brother's forehead, cupping his fingers to shield the kid's sensitive eyes.

Charlie watched, once again touched more than she expected by such a simple gesture.

"There..." Dean commented, his palm casting a shadow over Sam's face and effectively blocking the lights. "Better?"

Sam nodded and sighed, visibly relaxing as the pain behind his eyes marginally decreased.

Dean visibly relaxed as well, more at ease if Sam was more at ease.

That's how it worked between them.

Charlie nodded.

"Good," Dean praised about Sam's lessening pain, though there was nothing else about this situation that fit that description.

Nothing else was good right now.

But if Dean shielding Sam's eyes made his brother feel better, then good.

Especially since Dean knew the headache Sam had earlier that morning had to be raging now that the kid had smacked the hell out of his head on a freakin' concrete ledge and was finally awake enough to realize it.

Not to mention that Dean could definitely still feel Sam's fever now that his hand was on his brother's forehead again...and fevers always made Sam's head hurt.

Dean sighed, watching Sam blink up at him; his brother drowsy and confused. "You with me?"

Sam nodded.

Dean did the same. "Then let's hear some words..."

Charlie smiled.

Because Sam should know that Dean was _not _letting this "talk to me" routine go unless Sam said _something..._and Charlie would bet anything that Sam would say...

"Dean..."

Charlie grinned.

Jackpot, baby!

Jack. Pot.

Oh, yeah.

Did she know these guys...or did she know these guys?

Charlie inwardly squealed with delight while keeping calm, cool, and collected in appearance.

She was awesome like that.

Charlie nodded in agreement with her awesome self and redirected her attention to the brothers, not wanting to miss a second of this.

"Dean..." Sam repeated.

And this time, Dean smiled; the big brother having clearly expected Sam to call his name before the kid said anything else.

And knowing that Dean was happy about that – was _relieved_ by that – only made Charlie happier and more relieved, too.

This was a good sign.

_Finally..._

"Dean..." Sam called once more, sounding more alert each time he spoke.

"Yeah, Sammy..."

Sam blinked, seeming to suddenly realize that he was on the floor...and being a little freaked out about it.

"What..."

But that was as far as Sam got before wrinkling his nose at the familiar metallic taste coating the inside of his mouth and trying to swallow it down.

Because while Dean had wiped most of the blood from Sam's face earlier, the blood still lingered in Sam's mouth, clinging to his tongue and making his speech slow and thick.

Dean waited, as used to this as Sam was these days.

Sam swallowed again. "What happened?"

Dean huffed a humorless laugh. "I don't know. I wasn't here."

Charlie glared in silent warning.

Because no, Dean – you don't get to do that.

Not everything is your fault.

But Dean wasn't looking at her.

Charlie sighed.

"I've got a damn good idea, though..." Dean continued about what he suspected had happened in the shooting range to land Sam unconscious on the floor. He paused, staring at his brother. "You don't remember?"

Sam seemed to think about it.

Charlie frowned.

But Dean didn't seem worried.

And Charlie guessed that made sense – that anybody who had recently collided headfirst with concrete probably wouldn't be too sharp or quick on the uptake.

"Sammy..." Dean prompted, still crouching beside his brother; one hand on Sam's chest while the other continued to shield the kid's eyes from the lights above. "Do you remember what happened?"

"'S a little hazy..." Sam admitted, his voice quiet and hoarse; already tiring from this brief conversation. "I think...I think I was practicing."

Dean nodded again. "Your aim?"

Charlie pulled a face.

Well, of _course_ his aim.

What else did you practice in a shooting range?

Cartwheels?

Jeez.

Sam nodded, answering Dean's question.

Dean paused, hesitant to ask how that practice had gone.

Because Sam's earlier performance in the shooting range had been worse than when the kid was first learning to shoot.

And that was _bad._

But what the hell...

Dean sighed. "And...?"

Sam blinked at him. "I hit the white part."

...meaning the white part of the target.

Dean nodded at the news, keeping his poker face firmly in place. "That's better than before," he pointed out and smiled at his clearly disappointed and still embarrassed little brother.

Charlie shifted where she stood.

Awkward...

"Don't worry about it, Sammy," Dean told the kid still blinking up at him. "Once you feel better, your aim will get better," he assured confidently. "But we've got other things to worry about right now...like getting _you_ better."

Charlie nodded her wholehearted agreement.

Sam smiled weakly at Dean's open concern. "Thanks..."

Dean nodded.

Charlie felt all warm and fuzzy inside.

There was a beat of silence.

Sam sighed and swallowed. "I taste blood."

The comment made Charlie cringe.

But it was the way Sam casually said it that really unnerved her.

Like hey...it's Wednesday, and I taste blood.

No big deal.

Charlie glanced at Dean to gauge his reaction.

But Dean only nodded. "Yeah, I know."

Because he had wiped the blood from Sam's face earlier; could still see the remnants of it around Sam's mouth and smeared over his lips and even on the kid's teeth when Sam spoke.

Sam sighed again, briefly closing his eyes. "'M head hurts, too..."

"I bet it does," Dean agreed, glancing at the gash at Sam's hairline still sluggishly oozing blood. "That's what you get for faceplanting on a concrete ledge."

Sam opened his eyes and scrunched his face at the description, then winced when the expression ignited fresh throbbing across his forehead. "Ow."

Dean snorted at Sam sounding like he was five-years old again. "Well, don't do that..." he lightly admonished about Sam making faces. "I just told you – "

" – 's that why my mouth hurts, too?" Sam interrupted, carefully saying each word as if he had just realized that it was painful to talk.

Dean frowned at the question.

Because he hadn't considered that – that maybe Sam's mouth was bloody because Sam had bit his tongue or the inside of his lip when he had fallen forward.

Maybe _that's_ why there was so much blood on Sam's face earlier and why there was still a concerning amount on the floor below Sam's chin.

And while Dean didn't want his brother to have an injured mouth, he definitely preferred that possibility rather than the fear of Sam having coughed up that much blood.

"Dean..."

"Yeah, maybe..." Dean answered his brother, though it was hard to say unless he actually _looked_ in Sam's mouth...and he wasn't doing that now.

Dean would check out that detail once they were upstairs and had moved on to the first aid portion of the evening.

Good times in the Batcave.

Dean sighed.

Charlie continued to silently watch and listen from her position by the wall, vaguely wondering if Dean even remembered she was still there...or if Sam even realized she was.

Both brothers too focused on each other.

And that was fine.

In a strange way, it actually made Charlie happy.

Because Dean's attention _should_ be on Sam...and of course Sam's attention would be on Dean.

After what had happened, Sam needed the reassurance of his big brother...and Dean needed to take care of his little brother.

And Charlie needed to live here forever so she could watch these two interact everyday in all of their brotherly glory.

Charlie nodded and waited for one of them to speak.

There was a beat of silence.

"Do you remember coughing?"

Sam shifted restlessly on the floor and swallowed, wrinkling his nose at the metallic taste of blood still lingering in his mouth.

"I'm always coughing, Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I know that, smartass. I'm just trying to figure out what the hell happened down here while you were left unsupervised."

Sam glared weakly. "I'm not a kid."

"Could've fooled me," Dean returned dryly.

Sam's glare marginally intensified. "If I had the energy, I'd flip you off."

Charlie smiled.

Dean chuckled, encouraged by Sam's snark – just like he had taught the kid – but still concerned about his brother.

Because Sam was right – he _was_ always coughing. Hell, even the coughing up _blood_ had just become another part of their day over the past few weeks.

But this passing out part..._that_ was new – that was the type of thing that made Dean never want to leave Sam unsupervised again; never let his brother out of his sight.

Because in all the ways that mattered, Sam _was_ Dean's kid...and always would be.

Sam frowned as Dean stared at him and then winced when pain again flared across his forehead.

Dean frowned as well. "Dude, what did I tell you? Stop moving your face..."

"Stop moving your mouth," Sam replied.

Dean chuckled again at the comeback. "Dude. Lame."

Charlie smiled, thinking Sam's comeback actually sounded like something she would say.

Dean continued to stare at his brother.

Sam blinked back. "What?" he asked, the word garbled and wet from the blood still periodically pooling in his throat.

Dean shook his head. "Nothing," he replied, deciding not to tackle the issue of Sam losing consciousness right now.

Because Sam wasn't up for it...and truthfully, neither was Dean.

Dean was more concerned with getting his brother upstairs and settled; getting the kid cleaned up and changed and cooled down and dosed with meds and then tucked in bed.

They had already spent enough time down here.

Dean sighed.

Sam continued to watch him, tired and in pain but knowing something was on Dean's mind.

"It's nothing, Sammy," Dean assured, knowing Sam suspected otherwise. "We'll talk about it later, okay? Right now, I just want your gigantic ass off this floor."

Sam snorted, the sound quiet and tired. "Yeah, me too..." he agreed – still vaguely wondering how he had even ended up on the floor – and then suddenly coughed, saliva-diluted blood freshly spraying his lips.

* * *

_**TBC**_


	5. Chapter 5

Dean frowned at Sam's sudden coughing; the harsh, breathless sound echoing through the Batcave's shooting range.

"Hey. Easy..." Dean soothed, moving his hand from Sam's chest to instead cover his brother's mouth as Sam continued to cough but seemed too weak to raise his arms and cover his own mouth.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was love – not even thinking twice, not even flinching as your little brother coughed blood and spit across your bare hand.

Still watching and listening from her position by the wall, Charlie cringed – because that was so gross...and yet so sweet.

"You're the best big brother _ever_," she told Dean, her awestruck tone breaking the silence as she approached and crouched beside him.

Dean cut his eyes at her, clearly liking it better when Charlie was quiet and out of his space while he tended to his brother.

There was a pause.

"Oh...right..." Charlie commented, suddenly realizing. "Sorry..." she added as she took the hint, offering an apologetic smile before standing up and backing away a few steps to resume her previous spot.

Dean shook his head in annoyance but said nothing, once again focused on his brother as Sam coughed and then gasped noisily, sounding dangerously close to aspirating his own blood as it lingered in his throat.

Dean frowned and lowered his hand from Sam's mouth; briefly wiping the blood and spit across his pants and then slipping his arm under Sam's shoulders to sit the kid up.

Sam continued to cough, his breathing marginally eased by the change of position.

Dean nodded – satisfied that Sam was no longer choking on his own blood – and watched his brother, his gaze unwavering as he monitored Sam's condition while one cough followed another...and another and another.

Dean sighed. "You can wrap it up anytime now, Sam..." he grumbled.

But Charlie could hear Dean's worry, could see his thumb rubbing back and forth over Sam's shoulder offering unspoken comfort as Dean supported his brother.

Sam coughed once more and then sighed, shaky and breathless.

Dean arched an eyebrow. "You done?"

Sam seemed to consider the question, swallowing hard and panting through his mouth as he limply reclined in Dean's arms.

"Sam..." Dean prompted, his thumb still rubbing back and forth.

Sam nodded. "Done," he replied and then swallowed. "I think. For now..."

Dean nodded as well, familiar with the routine of Sam's coughing spells. "Good," he praised and brushed his fingers across Sam's blood-smeared lips as if all of this was no big deal.

Charlie smiled, hoping Dean knew that she was serious earlier – he was the best big brother _ever_.

Sam seemed to agree as he also smiled, weak and tired. "Thanks."

"For being awesome?" Dean clarified and then shrugged. "Don't know any other way to be, Sammy..." he smoothly informed his brother, still supporting Sam with one arm while once again wiping the blood from Sam's mouth with his fingers.

Charlie felt unexpectedly sappy, overwhelmed with the urge to hug them _both_ for being so awesome; for taking care of each other and appreciating each other and loving each other and just...

Charlie sighed.

_These guys..._

Dean's gaze swept the length of Sam's body, checking his brother's condition before he even asked his next question. "You ready to stand?"

And Charlie knew that if Sam said no, then Dean would sit there on the floor with his brother for as long as Sam needed.

And for some reason, even _that _was sweet.

She smiled softly.

"Sam..." Dean called, staring down at his drowsy brother. "You hear me? You ready to stand?"

Because Dean was ready to get Sam upstairs; was ready to get his brother cleaned up, so he could better assess what kind of first aid Sam's head needed from where the kid had smacked it on the concrete ledge earlier.

"Was that Charlie?" Sam asked instead of responding to Dean's question, sounding confused as if he had just processed having caught glimpse of her moments ago; as if he suddenly remembered that she had arrived earlier in the day and had gone with Dean to do...something.

Sam couldn't remember that.

But he knew that Charlie was there now and tried to turn his head in the direction he had last seen her.

Dean scowled at Sam's sluggish movements. "Hey. Be still," he lightly scolded, resting his hand on Sam's chest as his brother shifted in his arms. "Sam. I mean it. Be still...as in _stop moving_."

Because Sam needed to save his energy for getting to his feet in a few minutes...and then getting up the stairs.

But Sam persisted, as stubborn as he was tired.

"Was it?" Sam pressed about Charlie being in the shooting range, sounding slightly alarmed that she was there; that she had just witnessed...well, _this_.

Because being _this_ sick and weak in front of Dean was one thing, but Sam preferred not to be seen like this by anyone else.

Dean sighed harshly, knowing his brother's thoughts; knowing why Sam was so anxious to confirm whether Charlie was there or not.

And there she was, standing by the wall staring at them.

"Hi, Sam..." Charlie greeted as Sam's gaze finally found her.

Sam blinked.

Charlie shifted nervously, suddenly feeling like the intruder she was.

Sam continued to blink at her, making a distressed sound. "Oh, god..."

Because she had seen everything – the unconsciousness and the coughing and the blood and the gasping and the total dependence on Dean.

Sam swallowed, returning his attention to his big brother. "Dean..."

Because Sam was vaguely aware that he was too hot, too tired, and too disoriented to trust his own judgment on this; everything seeming worse than it was when you were sick and injured.

Dean shook his head, silently assuring his exhausted and overly-sensitive little brother that this was not as bad as Sam thought.

Sam didn't seem convinced.

Charlie wished she had stayed upstairs.

Dean sighed. "It's alright, Sam," he soothed. "I mean...it's just Charlie, right?" he joked, even as he glared at the redhead; appreciating her wanting to help when she had approached earlier but annoyed that she had further distressed his brother.

Charlie bit her lip. "I'm sorry," she apologized, her tone genuine.

Because she would never want to upset Sam...and she was a little bit scared of Dean, especially when it came to Sam.

"But hey..." Charlie called and laughed lightly. "No worries. What happens in the Batcave, _stays_ in the Batcave. Right?"

She paused when neither brother responded.

"Guys..." Charlie prompted, hating how unsure and desperate she sounded. "Am I right?"

Because they had to know that she would never tell anyone about any of this – about how sick and vulnerable Sam was, about Dean's candid worry and gentle care.

Those were sides of the Winchesters rarely seen by others. And in a strange, unexplainable way, Charlie cherished what she had witnessed.

What she had seen and heard between Sam and Dean would stay with her; would be the kind of thing she would think about before she fell asleep at night – a reminder of what family truly was, of what it meant to love someone more than yourself.

Charlie's gaze flickered between the brothers still staring at her. "Guys..."

Because the prolonged silence was becoming a little awkward and concerning.

"What happens here, stays here...right?"

Dean twitched a smile at Charlie's repeated effort to smooth things over and glanced down at Sam.

Still supported in Dean's arms, Sam seemed to relax, continuing to feel slightly upset and embarrassed but realizing that Dean had been right – this was just Charlie.

Everything was fine.

Sam sighed, sounding shaky and tired, and then swallowed, nodding at Dean.

Dean's smile widened, returning his brother's nod and then glancing at Charlie. "Damn right," he heartily agreed with her Vegas-style rule about the Batcave.

Charlie smiled, clearly relieved. "Good," she replied and then paused. "So...we're good?"

Dean chuckled. "Yeah. We're good."

Because in her own way, Charlie had become family to them – was in the circle of trust and all that crap.

Charlie sighed. "Alright then..."

"Alright then..." Dean agreed.

There was a beat of silence.

Big brother holding wannabe sister's gaze, silently communicating that yeah, he liked her...and yeah, he trusted her – but his primary priority would always be Sam, and she needed to tread lightly.

Because hurting or upsetting Sam, even unintentionally, would not be tolerated...especially these days when Sam was already so fragile from enduring the trials.

Charlie held Dean's gaze – realizing the significance of this moment – and nodded her understanding, her promise to abide by the big brother's rules.

Dean nodded that he would hold her to it.

There was more silence.

"Okay, enough of this bonding crap..." Dean announced gruffly.

Charlie shook her head good-naturedly at Dean's typical response.

Dean refocused on his brother. "You ready to stand, Sammy? Because I gotta tell ya, man...you're heavy as hell leaning against my arm like this. And my knees are freakin' _killin'_ me crouched down next to your needy ass."

Sam huffed a laugh – his brother always extra grumbly after a chick flick moment – and then coughed, swallowed. "Bite me, Dean."

Dean arched an eyebrow, surprised but pleased that Sam felt like keeping up with their usual banter.

There was a pause.

"Alright, listen..." Dean told Sam, fisting the kid's shirt in preparation to pull his brother to his feet. "Enough talking. Let's get you up. On three, okay?"

Sam nodded, holding onto Dean's arm.

Charlie stepped forward. "What can I do?"

"Stay out of the way," Dean answered, not even looking at her.

Charlie scowled. "There has to be _something_ I can do..." she countered and reached for Sam.

Dean cut his eyes at her.

_What did I just say?_

Charlie blinked, her hands hovering over Dean's little brother mid-grab.

Sam shook his head once, further warning her to abort her good intention of trying to help.

Because nothing personal, but Dean didn't want her help.

Dean _needed_ this – needed to take care of Sam since he hadn't been there when Sam had lost consciousness earlier.

It was a big brother thing.

And Dean _needed_ this.

Which meant Charlie needed to back off..._now_.

Charlie nodded and held her hands up. "Sorry..." she offered and again backed away from the brothers.

Dean sighed. "Okay, Sammy. On the count of three..." he reminded.

"Okay," Sam agreed, frowning in concentration as he continued to cling to Dean's arm.

"Here we go," Dean warned, readjusting his grip on his brother. "One...two...three..."

And in the next instant, Sam was on his feet; the room tilting as he was lifted up.

Charlie felt like clapping.

But Sam made a sound – half grunt, half moan – as an explosion of pain flared behind his eyes, throbbing across his forehead and competing for his attention against the increasing pressure in his chest.

Sam coughed as his vision momentarily wavered and he slumped forward, fully expecting to pass out again.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa..." Dean called, fully expecting the same, and tightened his hold on his sagging little brother. "Sammy. Stay with me..."

Sam made a different, noncommittal sound; making no promises as the room continued to spin.

Dean frowned. "Alright. Timeout..." he announced, cupping the back of Sam's neck and guiding his brother's head to rest on his shoulder; the kid's forehead too warm as it pressed against him, smearing blood on his shirt.

Charlie hovered anxiously. "Oh my god...what can I do? What can I do? Tell me what I can do."

"Nothing," Dean responded, calm and in control of the situation. "He's fine," he assured about Sam, keeping his hand on the back of his brother's neck, soothing and grounding. "Just give him a minute..."

Hence the "timeout".

Charlie stared at Dean, wide-eyed and uncertain.

Because Sam looked like he needed a hell of a lot more than just a minute.

"Are you – "

" – yes," Dean interrupted, narrowing his eyes at Charlie as she stood closer than before. "I'm sure."

_Now shut up and fuck off._

The message had been as clear as if Dean had actually said it.

Charlie swallowed but nodded.

Yeah, okay. She could do that.

It was _really hard_ because she wanted to help.

But she could do that.

She had _promised_ to do that earlier, so she would.

She would just stand there and be quiet.

Yeah. She would do that.

Hopefully...

Charlie sighed, pressing her lips together to prevent words from slipping out.

They waited.

Sam continued to lean against Dean; his head bent, resting on his brother's shoulder and breathing slowly, deliberately; one hand weakly fisting Dean's shirt in a comfort-seeking gesture.

Dean stood there, patient and unmoving; bearing most of Sam's weight; one hand still cupping Sam's neck while the other securely held Sam's bicep, keeping his brother upright.

Charlie watched them, startled by the urge to cry as she was overwhelmed by the moment; was touched by Sam's absolute trust and by Dean's unexpected gentleness with his little brother.

Because sure, she had read about these moments in the books.

But _seeing_ it...

Oh, man.

There was no comparison.

Charlie blinked against threatening tears.

Several minutes passed.

"Dean..."

Dean blinked at the sound of Sam's quiet voice. "Yeah, Sammy..."

"Ready," Sam told his brother, only having breath and energy for single words at this point.

Dean nodded. "Good," he praised and patted Sam's back before carefully easing his brother away from him; holding the kid at arm's length to better see Sam for himself.

Sam blinked back – pale and sweaty and bloody and looking like shit.

But Sam was conscious and trying to smile at Dean...and that was good enough for this big brother.

Dean returned the smile. "Alright, man. Upstairs. Here we go..." he warned, turning to stand beside Sam instead of in front of him.

Sam shifted where he stood, trying to find his balance.

Dean scowled. "Be still," he scolded, grabbing Sam's arm. "I just got you _off_ the floor. I don't want to pick you back up."

But he would.

Charlie knew without a doubt that Dean would pick Sam up no matter how many times he fell.

"And you know the drill..." Dean continued as he and Sam started shuffling forward. "You lean on _me_ and the railing. Got it?"

Sam nodded.

Charlie followed behind them, feeling like the proverbial third wheel. "What about me? What can I do?"

"You can be quiet," Dean returned bluntly.

Because climbing the steps would require concentration and focus for Sam, who was already trembling against Dean's side with the effort it took to cross to the doorway.

And Sam couldn't concentrate if Charlie kept chattering.

Thank god they didn't have a real little sister...

Charlie sighed, not liking Dean's order but understanding and following it as they approached the stairs.

Sam paused at the first step, his gaze traveling up the staircase like it was a mountain.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Don't be a drama queen, Sam..." he admonished, though there was no heat to the jibe.

After all, Dean knew how hard this was going to be for his brother.

"Just one step at a time, man..." Dean reminded, squeezing Sam's arm in silent encouragement. "No rush. I'm right here beside you, and I got nowhere else to be."

"Me, neither," Charlie added.

Dean cut his eyes at her over his shoulder.

Charlie cringed – having already forgotten that she was supposed to be quiet – and then motioned zipping her lips.

Dean sighed harshly at the childish gesture and then refocused on his brother. "Alright, Sammy. Whenever you're ready..."

Sam nodded.

They waited.

Several seconds later, Sam stepped forward, gripping the railing along the wall of the staircase...and gripping Dean's arm even harder as he pulled himself up.

Dean winced slightly as Sam's fingers dug into his skin.

But hey...whatever helped the kid.

"Doin' good, Sammy..." Dean praised when they had climbed two steps.

Charlie nodded her agreement about the painfully slow progress and followed behind them.

Minutes passed.

Then several more minutes...

Then several _more..._

"Holy..."

"I know," Dean agreed as Sam's breathless voice trailed off.

Because holy shit it was taking a long time to climb this staircase.

Too bad they didn't have an elevator.

But out of all the cool things the Men of Letters had included in the Batcave, they had forgotten that one thing – a fucking elevator.

_Jesus..._

Dean shook his head. "But you're doin' good, Sammy," he encouraged and increased his grip on his shaking brother. "Just a few more steps..."

Which felt like a few more _hundred_ steps at this rate...

Behind them, Charlie sighed.

More minutes passed.

Then finally...

"Hot damn!" Dean crowed as they cleared the top step; pausing for Sam to catch his breath and feeling his brother lean more heavily against him. "Sammy. You good?"

"Mmhmm," Sam hummed and then coughed.

"Easy..." Dean replied, noticing he said that a lot these days, and glanced over his shoulder.

Charlie smiled and gave two thumbs up. _He did it_, she mouthed.

Dean nodded – because damn right he did it...Sam was fucking awesome – and turned back to his brother, knowing they had to make use of this momentum; knowing they had to keep moving before Sam completely ran out of energy.

"Alright, Sammy. Home stretch," Dean announced, nodding at the hallway that indeed stretched in front of them. "Let's go..."

Sam grunted his displeasure but started moving again when Dean did; feeling his brother's hand securely grasping his arm, steadying him with each step down the hallway.

"Can I do anything yet?" Charlie asked, hating that she sounded like a whiney brat.

But dude, there had to be _something_ she could do that was more useful than following the brothers around from one room to another.

"Actually..." Dean began, glancing at Charlie as she approached his opposite side. "You can go get a bottle of water from the kitchen."

Charlie pulled a face, because that seemed like a lame errand. "For serious?"

Dean arched an eyebrow at her tone as he continued to lead Sam down the hall. "You asked..." he reminded her.

Charlie sighed. "Fine," she replied like a moody teenager. "Which way to the kitchen?"

Dean nodded toward the left as another hall appeared.

"Wow. That was vague," Charlie commented about the nonverbal direction and sighed again. "Okay. Bottle of water from the kitchen coming up. Anything else?"

Dean shook his head, glancing at Sam as his brother stumbled. "Easy there, Princess Grace."

Sam huffed a laugh and swallowed audibly; one hand clinging to Dean while the other slid over the wall, bracing himself on both sides as they made their way to his room.

Charlie frowned, suddenly reminded of how sick and weak Sam was; of how Dean had a good reason to be distracted right now; of how she should get over herself and go get the damn bottle of water if that's what they needed her to do.

Was she Team Winchester or not?

Was she a team player they could count on?

Damn right, she was.

Charlie nodded. "BRB," she tossed over her shoulder as she turned left down the other hall Dean had indicated seconds before, going off to complete her mission.

* * *

_**TBC**_


	6. Chapter 6

Dean frowned. "BRB," he repeated as Charlie disappeared down the other hall. "What the hell...?"

"Be right...back," Sam translated breathlessly.

"Oh. Huh."

Dean processed that information, then arched an eyebrow at his brother.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I know shit," Sam responded dryly.

Dean chuckled at Sam quoting him. "No. _I_ know shit," he corrected. "Stop using my lines."

Sam smiled tiredly.

There was a beat of silence.

"Why water?"

Dean glanced at Sam. "So you don't have to dry-swallow meds."

Sam shook his head. "There's water...in the bathroom."

They cupped their hands under the running faucet in the sink and swallowed down pills all the time.

Dean nodded. "Right you are."

Which meant...

Sam snorted at the realization of Dean sending Charlie on an unnecessary errand just to get rid of her.

"That's wrong," Sam scolded.

Dean shrugged.

"She...means well," Sam defended, thankful Dean was beside him as they walked.

Dean nodded, holding his brother steady. "I know," he agreed. "But she never shuts up."

Sam laughed lightly and then coughed. "She tries."

Dean shrugged again; his patience too thin to worry about being rude in his own house.

Besides, right now, Dean just wanted to take care of his brother in peace and quiet without an audience.

And if that was wrong, then fine...he was wrong.

Look at his face to see all the fucks he gave.

There was silence.

"How's your head?"

"Hurts," Sam answered honestly.

Dean nodded, knowing that was an understatement if Sam was actually admitting pain.

Sam coughed...and then coughed again.

"Hey. Don't start..." Dean warned, because if Sam fell into another coughing spell, Dean doubted he would be able to keep the kid on his feet.

He was barely keeping the kid on his feet now.

Sam nodded even as he coughed once more and then swallowed. "Did you...move...my room?"

Dean snorted at the question. "No," he assured his brother, freshly worried that Sam was so breathless; that this simple walk down the hall was nearly beyond his brother's strength. "Almost there, man. But first..."

Dean steered Sam into the bathroom, switching on the light with his elbow before carefully settling Sam on the closed toilet seat.

Sam sighed but didn't protest, quietly sitting on the seat and squinting in the glare of the lights reflecting off the mirror; knowing this routine and watching as Dean pulled the first aid kit from beneath the counter before grabbing a washcloth.

Dean glanced at his brother. "How you doing over there?" he asked, turning on the sink's faucet and holding the washcloth under the water.

"Fine," Sam replied, the response programmed.

Dean pulled a face. "Yeah," he agreed dryly, shutting off the water and twisting the saturated fabric over the sink. "You look fine."

Somewhere in the Batcave, a door slammed.

Sam's attention flickered to the hallway. "I think Charlie's lost."

Because there were no doors between there and the kitchen.

Dean shrugged. "She'll be fine," he replied distractedly, narrowing his eyes as he began carefully cleaning the blood from Sam's face and forehead.

"I can do this myself, you know..." Sam commented, even though he made no move to do so; only closed his eyes and allowed Dean to fuss over him.

Because sometimes it felt good to be the little brother; to let your big brother take care of you when you didn't have the energy to take care of yourself.

Sam sighed.

Dean continued wiping blood from his brother's face.

Seconds passed.

The sound of movement drifted down the hall as Charlie wandered around the Batcave in search of the elusive kitchen.

Neither brother commented.

"Good news," Dean announced, gently pressing his fingers around the gash at Sam's hairline. "No stitches."

Sam opened his eyes. "Good," he agreed, because he didn't think he could endure that tonight.

"Just a few butterfly bandages..."

Sam nodded, watching as Dean rinsed the washcloth in the sink and then handed it to him, gesturing toward his mouth.

Sam nodded again and rubbed the fabric over his chin and lips, clearing the blood he had coughed up earlier.

"Is your mouth still sore?" Dean checked, remembering Sam mentioning that earlier in the shooting range when the kid had first regained consciousness.

Sam shrugged. "Kinda."

Dean said nothing, knowing the amount of blood that had been on the lower part of Sam's face and on the floor of the shooting range had not resulted from a mouth injury but from coughing.

_Lots_ of coughing...

But neither of them wanted to talk about that now, so…

Dean sighed, making a mental note to clean the floor of the shooting range, and then focused on the open first aid kit balanced on the counter, pulling out an alcohol wipe along with four butterfly bandages.

"Here..." Dean told his brother, taking the washcloth from Sam and tossing it in the sink before dropping the bandages in Sam's hand.

Sam sat still, quietly hissing as Dean dabbed the wound with alcohol and then gently pinched the edges of his skin together; expertly applying one butterfly bandage after another, accepting them from Sam each time.

"Alright. Let's see..." Dean leaned back to survey his handiwork. "Looks good," he commented, his fingers once again lightly skimming the swollen, bruised surface of Sam's skin. "How do they feel?"

Sam scrunched his face. "My whole head hurts."

Dean nodded. "Which is why we have drugs..." he replied and turned to the kit before turning back to his brother and rattling a bottle of pills.

Sam sighed, accepting Dean's help as he stood and crossed the couple steps to the sink; cupping his hand under the water his brother turned on and taking the meds Dean gave him.

"Your fever seems lower," Dean commented, no longer feeling waves of heat radiating from his brother as he stood beside Sam and packed away the first aid kit.

Sam nodded. "Maybe a little," he agreed, wiping his sleeve across his mouth as water dripped from his chin.

"Dude. Don't wipe your mouth on your shirt," Dean playfully admonished. "Who raised you anyway...?"

"I think we both know," Sam replied, shutting off the water and smiling at his brother.

Dean smiled as well, giving Sam a once-over as the kid braced against the counter. "You good?"

Sam nodded.

"Good," Dean returned. "Come on. Bedtime for Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes but didn't protest when Dean once again grabbed his arm as they left the bathroom and continued down the hall toward Sam's room.

Somewhere in the Batcave, another door slammed.

Dean frowned. "What the hell is she doing?"

"Looking for the kitchen."

Dean scowled at Sam's smartass answer. "Thank you, Captain Obvious."

Sam smiled.

"But it's not that damn hard..." Dean grumbled about finding the Batcave's kitchen.

Sam didn't respond, once again too focused on actually walking to attempt the challenge of walking _and_ talking.

Minutes passed before the brothers reached Sam's room.

"Finally..." Dean muttered and sat his brother on the side of his bed. "I feel like I've been driving Miss Daisy."

Sam glared with no heat. "Shut up."

Dean chuckled, crossing to the dresser and grabbing Sam's sleep clothes. "Here..." he told his brother, holding out the sweatpants and t-shirt. "You got this?"

Because some nights Sam did...and some nights he didn't.

And Dean was there for whatever Sam needed.

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

Dean arched a skeptical eyebrow but gave the clothes to his brother and crossed to the door; allowing Sam his privacy without actually leaving the room in case Sam changed his mind about needing help.

Sam quirked a smile at Dean's back, knowing what his big brother was doing and feeling strangely loved and protected.

Dean stared into the hall, listening. "Yo, Charlie..."

Because seriously...what the fuck was taking so long?

"Coming..." Charlie called back, apparently close enough to hear Dean's voice.

At least that was encouraging...

"She won't be happy when..."

Sam paused, grunting with the effort it took to change clothes.

Dean tilted his head at the sound but didn't turn around. "You good back there?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, tired and frustrated.

Because changing clothes shouldn't be _this_ big of a deal.

He sighed.

"When what?" Dean prompted, distracting his brother from feeling sorry for himself.

Sam blinked. "Oh..." he commented, remembering. "When she finds out we didn't really need the water."

Dean shrugged, not sorry. "She'll get over it," he assured his brother.

Because Charlie was the least of his worries right now.

"You almost done?"

"Mmhmm..."

A few seconds passed.

Dean waited and then turned at the rustle of blankets behind him, watching as Sam crawled into bed and settled beneath the sheets.

"You need anything?"

Sam shook his head, his hair whispering against the pillowcase; his eyes already closed.

Dean watched him, silently counting down from ten as Sam's breaths evened out in sleep.

..._three...two...one..._

Dean smiled at his predictable little brother. "Night, Sammy..." he called quietly and then frowned when Charlie came stomping down the hall.

"Holy crap..." she bitched, suddenly appearing in the doorway of Sam's room with a bottle of water. "You should hand out maps to this place. 'You are _here..._' I mean – "

Charlie blinked as Dean's hand suddenly covered her mouth.

"Shut up," he growled, his voice hushed but his glare indicating how serious he was about those two words.

_Shut. Up._

Charlie blinked again, confused and startled until her gaze traveled past Dean's shoulder to see a sleeping Sam.

Oh.

_Oh..._

Realization instantly lit in her eyes and she nodded.

Dean stared at her, further enforcing his warning, and slowly removed his hand.

"Sorry," Charlie whispered. "I didn't know he was already asleep. That was fast..."

And she totally missed the brotherly first aid scene...dammit!

Not to mention Dean getting Sam settled.

Charlie sighed and glanced at the big brother still standing in the doorway of Sam's room like a gatekeeper...and still staring at her.

Charlie arched an eyebrow. "What?"

"He's sick," Dean reminded her about Sam, indirectly explaining why his brother had gone to sleep within seconds. "And he's tired..." he added. "And if you wake him up..."

Charlie nodded her understanding of the threat, wondering if Dean realized he sounded like a mom pissed at the idea of someone waking her baby.

God, it was adorable...and sweet...and just GUH.

_These brothers..._

"I'm sorry," Charlie apologized again, being careful to bitch more quietly than before. "But I felt like I was in the freakin' Labyrinth looking for the kitchen. Like I was going to see the Goblin King around the next corner..."

Dean frowned. "Who?"

"The Goblin King," Charlie repeated and then pulled a face at Dean's continued cluelessness. "Oh my god. Come on. The Goblin King...David Bowie..."

Dean shook his head, annoyed and done with this conversation to nowhere. "Whatever," he dismissed and glanced over his shoulder at Sam, then back to Charlie. "Listen. I need to change clothes." He vaguely gestured to his pants and white shirt smeared with his brother's blood. "Watch Sam..."

"Watch him do what?" Charlie asked, because Sam was clearly out.

Dean scowled at the stupid question, reconsidering whether or not he should leave his brother alone with such a dumbass.

There was a beat of silence.

Charlie blinked. "Ohhh..."

She nodded, suddenly getting it and feeling like a ditz for not realizing sooner.

Because Sam wasn't going to do anything except lay there and sleep.

That was not what this was about.

This was about Dean temporarily putting her in charge.

This was the big brother asking her to watch Sam because Sam was sick and vulnerable and needed watching, okay?

This was an epic moment, and _the _most significant sign of trust – a changing of the guard in who watched over Sam.

Charlie smiled, ridiculously excited and humbled by this honor. "You can count on me," she assured Dean as he stepped aside and allowed her to enter Sam's room.

"Just watch him," Dean reminded as Charlie crossed the room and stood beside the bed, staring down at Sam. "But don't talk to him...and don't wake him up."

Charlie nodded, her gaze flickering to Dean as she raised her hand to her forehead in mock salute. "Aye-aye, Captain," she responded and smiled, then frowned as she noticed she was still holding that stupid bottle of water. "Oh..."

Charlie lowered her hand and pointed at the bottle.

"Guess Sam doesn't need this anymore..."

"Guess not," Dean agreed, twitching a smile before glancing at Sam and then leaving the room.

Charlie frowned, Dean's expression and quick retreat leading her to suspect she had just somehow been played.

"Huh..." she mused and set the water bottle on the bedside table.

Charlie sighed, focusing on Sam.

"Guess it's just you and me..." she commented like she was trying to pick him up in a smoky bar.

Sam didn't seem interested, continuing to lay motionless beneath the sheets; his head slightly turned toward her with his hair fanned out on the pillow; his eyes closed and his breaths even.

Charlie smiled. "You look really young when you sleep," she told him.

But Charlie felt her smile slip as her gaze took in Sam's pale skin; the light bruises of fatigue beneath his eyes; the slight flush of fever over his hollow cheeks.

"And sick..." she added about Sam's appearance, cringing at the truth. "I'm sorry."

Sorry that she had said that, though no one had heard her.

Even more sorry that it was true...

Because Sam looked bad – _really_ bad.

And the swollen, bruised gash at his hairline wasn't helping.

"Sucks that I missed the first aid..." Charlie commented, truly disappointed she had not been around to see Dean clean Sam up and apply those butterfly bandages.

Man, that would've been sweet.

But...

Charlie sighed and glanced around the room, deciding she should probably stop speaking; that she should instead do what Dean had told her – just watch Sam and not talk.

God forbid if she woke Dean's little brother with her rambling...

Charlie twitched a smile.

Sam slept.

Charlie's gaze continued to roam the room, wondering how Sam had ever accumulated so many books...and how long it had taken him to alphabetize all of them.

"Wow..." she breathed and shook her head fondly as she looked back at Sam. "You're even more OCD than me."

It was a compliment.

Charlie smiled, glancing at the book on the bedside table and reaching for it; casually leafing through the pages and frowning when a sheet of paper floated to the floor.

"Oops. Sorry," she told Sam and crouched to pick it up; pausing when Dean, freshly changed into his own sweatpants and t-shirt, appeared in the doorway.

And of course he would return _now_.

Charlie sighed. "That was fast..."

Dean didn't respond, only arched an eyebrow.

Charlie stood. "I was just..."

Her voice trailed off as she gestured at the book and the paper and then shrugged.

Because she was just snooping...and now she was just _caught_.

But...

"Sam's still sleeping," Charlie reported proudly and tilted her head toward Dean's brother. "See?"

Sam had not moved since Dean had left; was still in the exact same position on the bed.

That was good news, right?

Dean again didn't respond, only entered the room and crossed to her; taking the book and the paper and glaring his disapproval of Charlie invading his brother's privacy.

"Sorry," Charlie offered. "I was just looking. I was bored."

Dean said nothing but instead focused on the sheet of paper, reading what was written in Sam's careful print.

Charlie frowned at Dean's intense expression. "What?"

Dean shook his head.

Charlie shifted, angling for a better view of the paper and reading it as well.

_Whosoever chooses to undertake these tasks should fear not danger nor death nor getting your spine ripped out through your mouth for all eternity._

"Oh my god..." Charlie cringed, blinking at the words and then reading them again. "Is that talking about the – "

" – yeah," Dean interrupted, confirming what he knew Charlie was asking. "The trials."

And leave it to Sam to not only remember what Kevin had said that day they had first found out about the three trials required to shut the gates of Hell...but to write it down and keep it beside his bed – readily available to read and obsess over.

Dean sighed. "Sammy..."

So much said and felt in that one word.

Charlie bit her lip, her gaze flickering to a sleeping Sam and then back to a worried Dean. "He'll be fine."

Dean snorted humorlessly and nodded at the paper he still held.

Because really? Had Charlie not just read the same thing he had?

"I know," Charlie agreed about what was written on the paper. "But you said it yourself back at the boutique – Sam is one tough sonuvabitch."

Dean twitched a smile. "Yeah, he is," he replied about his brother.

_But..._

The word hung in the air – unspoken but there.

Charlie nodded.

There was silence, only Sam's steady breathing filling the room.

Dean sighed, sticking the sheet of paper back inside the book and setting both on the bedside table.

Charlie watched as Dean gave Sam a visual once-over, making sure his brother was okay and resting soundly, before crossing to the other side of the bed; grabbing a different book from one of the bookcases and then carefully sitting on the mattress beside Sam.

Charlie smiled, recognizing this scene from the books; knowing that Dean was going to stay, was going to watch over Sam most of the night – if not _all_ night.

The realization made something twist deep inside Charlie's chest; the bittersweet pang of knowing she would never be loved this much.

She sighed, feeling shaky with restrained emotion.

"You really are the best big brother ever," Charlie told Dean, meaning every word.

Dean glanced at her but said nothing as he continued to settle beside Sam; stuffing the extra pillow behind his back as he leaned against the headboard; one hand lightly resting on Sam's chest while the other propped the book against his knee.

Charlie watched; would be content to pull up a chair and watch all night.

Because she would never get tired of seeing these brothers interact, even when one was deeply asleep and could not reciprocate.

Somehow that just made it sweeter, more special.

Charlie sighed and then realized Dean was staring at her. "What?"

Dean nodded at the door. "Close that when you leave," he told her, indirectly ordering Charlie out of the room and out of his and Sam's space.

And that was cool.

Sam belonged to Dean, and sometimes the big brother didn't want to share.

Charlie got that.

"Yeah. Sure..." she agreed, taking her cue and crossing to the door. "Need anything before I go?" she checked. "Another bottle of water perhaps?"

Dean chuckled quietly at Charlie's overly polite offer, knowing that she suspected he had sent her on a needless errand earlier just to get rid of her.

"Nah," Dean replied. "We're good."

Charlie smiled. "Yeah, we are," she agreed, indirectly accepting his indirect apology...even if Dean hadn't intended it that way.

There was a pause.

"Okay. Well..." Charlie lingered in the doorway, reluctant to leave. "Guess I'll see you in the morning. Hope Sam feels better..."

Dean nodded, glancing at his brother as Sam continued to sleep beside him.

"Alright..." Charlie sighed. "Good night...bitches."

Dean smiled at the typical Charlie farewell and watched as she disappeared into the hall, closing the door behind her.

Dean shook his head and glanced again at Sam, making sure his brother was okay.

Sam continued to sleep, had turned his head toward Dean but otherwise had not moved.

Dean nodded, assuring himself that Sam was fine, and then affectionately rubbed his brother's chest as he settled in for the night.

* * *

_**FIN**_

**A/N:** Two chapters in one day...yay! Happy SPN Finale! :)


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